Be Safe With Me Brother
by everyone'ssister
Summary: Tag for 12x03, The Foundry. Will the aftermath of the icy ghost and saying goodbye to their mom get the better of Dean and Sam? Hurt!dean, fluff and feels.
1. Part 1

BE SAFE WITH ME BROTHER

Door slams, all the goodness...the hope from their lives closed out with it. Door slams, Sam jumps, eyes squeeze shut as if he can block out the pain of what is happening to them. The disappointment, the crushing weight of some sort of failure on their part, the agony that they're not enough.

How does losing someone you barely even know feel like it's tearing everything from you? Sam feels as though someone has reached down his throat and is scooping his insides hollow. He can feel the panic and the coldness of being rejected surrounding him. It's a paralysis wrapping around his mind and heart, it's Dean's face...the utterly shattered look there.

No! He finds himself crying out inwardly. This isn't how it's supposed to go, Dean had earned this, he deserved this. He can see the one panicked thought stuck in Dean's mind, heart...stuck on his face. The gut-punched expression on his face screaming...

...I lost her again.

His brother takes another staggering step back. Away from the spot she had just stood in, away from the hurt, away from the enemy. Away from Sam. He watches breaths rise and fall so rapidly in his brother's chest. His eyes are still down cast, he hasn't met anyone's eyes since she unveiled her intention of leaving.

And Sam thinks he should be ready for this, be ready for Mary. Should be angry at her or be ready to defend her, but there's only a numbness there in his chest where his heart should be. A numbness that eases and warms and disappears when he looks at his devastated brother.

Dean folds in on himself. Arms crossed over his chest but it's more like a protective hug. Mouth drawn in a thin line, eyes sparkling and red. Haunted, but absolutely dry. The wrinkles and age stand out with the whiteness of his skin, and Sam can't help but wonder when did this little lost boy begin to look so old?

Sam can't imagine what his brother feels now. Can't imagine the confusion, the hurt, the disappointment. Sam knows he has to reach out to him now, or they'll never talk about it. Dean will lock up if they don't, he will anyways. You don't get this hurt and do nothing about your self-defenses. He's watching Dean's walls double, triple right in front of his eyes.

But tears are there in Sam's eyes as Dean's shattered expression doesn't fade, as he just stands there looking at the floor.

Sometimes there's no help for the hurt. Sometimes there's no healing, sometimes...it's there forever. And Sam finds fear, cold and strong and rational grab hold of his heart. His brother isn't ready for this, would have never been. No one is meant to lose the same parent twice.

Sam never knew her, associates these few days with the one time he met her, with that one time he saw her so many years ago back home in Lawrence. It was the best thing that had ever happened to him, but they were just little gifts...more than he ever expect to have.

But Dean, Dean's soul had recognized her immediately. Things he had forgotten about those four happy, golden years had flooded back to him. Smiles, touches, conversations...they came back to him and he smiled looking into the future knowing she was there, knowing they would be remaking those memories.

Now they mock him and his breaking heart, the crushing weight of hopes and expectations dashed to pieces. That part of him so long quiet and dormant had woken and given Mary the throne over him. Because it was mom. And she had been taken from them, but she was back. Dean would never let that happen again...and she would never chose to leave them.

Sam takes a step towards him, hands slightly raised like somehow he can help, like somehow he can lift the weight. Like somehow he can hold his bigger brother together, put the pieces back in place, keep the avalanche of Dean's life from tumbling down around his ears. Before Sam's very eyes.

Air is sitting stale and useless in his lungs as he watches Dean take another retreating step back. No, no, no. Sam thinks dimly, 'don't turn away, let me help you!' And at the same time, 'don't turn away from me! Don't leave me alone, please help me through this Dean!'

And it's the same agonizing feeling Sam feels every time Dean is hurt. His brother pulls away, in hurt panic, he can't even recognize friend from foe, brother from enemy. Sam has to show him, has to force his loving care on Dean. Make him see, 'you're not alone, someone still cares, your safe with me.'

Be safe with me brother, cries out his plea.

"Dean..." he barely whispers out. Hand reaching closer than ever.

It's the last straw. Dean bolts, leaving Sam standing in the rush of air that hints at his swift departure. Smells like him, leather, fine whiskey...his aftershave. Sam thinks he can smell the saltiness of hurt and the sharpness of bitterness in the air, or maybe he can feel it.

Hand clenches in empty, cold, cold air. His ears echo the sound of Dean's boots making a hurried getaway, searching for a safe place, somewhere safe from Mary, somewhere safe from him. How does it still hurt so much?

He leans back against the cased opening and closes his eyes against the dim lighting of the library and the cold, brash reality of their lives closing in on him. Head falls back against the wood with a hollow thunk. Body slides down the smooth, finished material easily enough. He ends at the bottom hitting the floor with a muffled thump. Long legs bend at the knees, just-as-long arms wrap around them.

He wants to be okay. He wants to be bigger and stronger than this. But he's not. His soul is aching for Dean, for the big brother reassurance, the strong presence of the man he respects and loves so much.

While Sam aches for Dean to let himself be safe with him, he's also longing,

Come make me safe brother.

...

Icy tendrils wrap around him. He's not sure if it's because he's losing her again or if it's because of Moriarty's freezing grip he'd had on his heart. A terrifying mix of sadness and a struggling, weak anger make his eyes burn and stay turned to the floor. Sam shudders and jumps at the door slamming shut. Dean's very being repeats the reaction.

How does one cope with this? How does he deal with losing her again? How does he deal with her leaving him, turning her back on him by choice? How can he let her go? How does he not lock her up safe and sound? How does he let her leave him behind again?

By eyes locked on the floor, by fisting hands and taking a step back from her as she reaches to surround him in that familiar yet still blissfully mysterious embrace and loving warmth. How does she do it? How does she leave them, how does she abandon her only family left?

She can do it, he realizes. Had done it before. She wasn't John, she didn't raise them to stick together no matter what. She died; and taught them to survive no matter what. She was born and bred hunter, she was the cunning, cold wolf. She was the strong independent person who knew what she needed. Who knew she needed time.

Not Dean. Not Sam. Definitely not the two codependent, barely operable hunters who called themselves her sons. And suddenly in the ache, the war of the mess of his heart he's proud of her, is amazed by the strength. Strength he'd never had, would never have.

He needs his family, he needs to be needed, he needs to be loved. He needs Sam like the air he breathes, and as much as he thought he would feel the same about his mom. It wasn't.

Unlike Sam, he could let her go. He could bear the hurt and the anger and the confusion if she was good, if she did what was best for her. It quakes his foundations, it shakes his soul...it makes him question himself, Sam, his life...but nevertheless he stands cold and shocked in the library and lets her go.

He let her go.

Arms lift unconsciously to hide his shivering chest, he tries to count his breaths and pulse to calm himself. Sam reaches for him and he wants to help Sam. God, what is this like for the kid? Hasn't he been through enough? He wants to shout angrily.

Eyes are still on the floor. It's a security, he's in control there. He's not breaking things with rage, he's not sobbing with heartache. But he's closing Sam out like this. And right now their bond is a curse. He's feeling waves of the same emotions he's suffering from coming off his little brother. Sam is feeling everything Dean had tried to protect him from.

Yes, Sam hadn't known their mom, but at least he didn't know the pain and regret Dean did, at least that one trial was spared him. He wants so badly to reach out to his brother now. Wants to help him, wants to wrap him up and keep him safe and sound somewhere.

But he knows deep down, and it stings him so badly, that he's no where near being stable enough to help anybody. Sam's face is so lost, is so open, unprotected. Dean would kill himself if he hurt Sam right now. He needs to screw his head on straight, he needs some space, some air...needs to stop this freezing, constricting, terrifying feeling in his chest.

His brother reaches for him, barely chokes out his name and that's Dean's breaking point. Little brother is so vulnerable right now. It would be so easy to break him. God, Dean probably wouldn't even have to try. Knowing himself he would hurt Sam all to easily, would break him without even knowing, without even speaking or moving.

So he runs.

He leaves the room, hand over the place where Moriarty had left his icy marks. He thinks he's only imagining the icy streaks that's shooting from his chest. Thinks it's only the torture from this day, from himself for turning his back on his brother. For running scared because he believes he can't control himself when he's this vulnerable.

So he turns away to hurt on his own, thinking,

Be safe from me brother.

...tbc

REVIEW FOR MORE!

(Some hurt!dean and so much more feels and fluff on its way.)

Guys, the ending of the episode totally caught me off guard! Like literally my heart was broken into shatters. :(((((


	2. Part 2

Part 2.

The silence in the bunker is eery. Closes in on Dean as he stumbles down the halls, closes in the thoughts he so desperately wants to let out and get rid of permanently. High pitched noises kick in and out popping his ears making his stomach drop and roll with nausea. Violent shivers shake his frame and he really can't understand why on earth he can't stop them. "Get control of yourself, Dean." He grits out through chattering teeth.

Why he finds himself at her bedroom door he doesn't know. Why does he torture himself? It's almost with a compelled hand that he swings the door opened. Even after only a few days her scent wafts out to him, he smiles sadly at the unmade bed. Sheets, blankets and clean towels folded on the end of it.

A pretty big message stamped there. Going. Gone.

He sighs, shudderingly taking a step into the room fingers ghosting over the fold materials. The room looks the same as it did before she moved in here. She was well and truly gone, leaving nothing behind for her sons except the phantom feeling of her embrace and the evasive smell of "her".

Mary had literally disappeared out of their lives they way they did from those they met along the way in their cases. She left them with not a trace with an ease that angered Dean, she even took John's journal with her.

Before Dean could stop himself he kicks the legs out from under the chair sitting at the desk and punches a fisted hand against the wall. Grounding, satisfying pain rips up his knuckles as the chair's legs merely give out, splinters of wood scattering across the floor.

The cold burning pain in his chest intensifies with the violent outburst reminding him all to well of the Mark of Cain. Grasping at the point of pain in his chest with his hand anger gives away to grief, after all he can't really be angry with her. The sadness of her departure has marred the safety of their home for the time being.

Their home.

Not mom's home.

Not enough for her, couldn't keep her here, couldn't make her stay. Couldn't make her happy...couldn't make her forget. Doubts and regrets and insecurities flood into his mind, constricting his aching heart even further. He turns away from the scene of his violent outburst and slumps down on the edge of the bed looking down at his hands.

"Was it something I did?" He asks out loud, as if the room can speak for his absent parent. Another parent who had left him, another parent who he hadn't been able to keep. Expected silence answers him, "Something I didn't do?" He adds with a self-depreciating laugh through shivers.

"Mom..." he's cut off as searing cold pain rips through his senses, aches slicing through his body. Eyes blur for a moment, when he can breathe again they are wet with tears. His chest is cold and burning with agony under his hand. He jerks his palm away from his body, it breaks away with a sickening crack. He looks down at his hand in awe, a thin layer of ice shines on his skin.

"What the...?" He mutters under his breath, he stands and makes his way over to the mirror, pulling the layers of clothes back. There over his heart a thick section of ice has formed under his jacket. The middle glows a wicked blue pulsing with each beat of his heart. There beside his own face in the reflection of the mirror is a dimly familiar ashen gray face with a wicked smile on its lips.

Moriarty.

Dean grits his teeth and clenches his hands against the onslaught of torturous icy agony coursing through his body as their eyes meet, he fights for consciousness and control.

"Sa...!"

...

His surroundings are somewhat familiar. The room is old, walls of worn, eaten away wood. Boarded up windows, flickering and changing to dirty curtained panes. He's off balance, the room rocking, with each turn it's changing appearance a little. The sound is wacky, his ears popping and sound filtering in between a high pitched white noise.

Images are fading in and out somewhat like spirits, Sam can't make out much. A table and a fireplace appear and disappear alternately. There is one image slowly becoming more and more vivid that he recognizes with an anxious lurch in his stomach.

Dean's figure fills in against the wall, his feet are a few inches from the floor, he's pinned there by some invisible force. Blood oozes dark red down his chest from wounds that Sam remembers all too well. The ones inflicted on him by Azazel while he's possessed John's body. He tenses to shoot forward automatically, to help his sibling, to stop this repeat.

He finds he can't move like he's stuck, watching from his place on the floor. A shadow he couldn't identify before suddenly makes sense as the dark silhouette turns and John's face comes into view with yellow, glowing eyes. He finds himself fighting and thrashing helplessly as John's fingers insert deeper and deeper into Dean's chest as his brother wails in agony.

He collapses gasping and sobbing against the wall as Dean goes still.

The familiar picture fades to something he also recognizes, something that happened only a few hours ago. The fireplace and boarded up windows come into view and stabilize. Dean is still against the wall, but now a glowing orb of light approaches his brother. He's not afraid until Dean's eyes go wide and the light takes on a little shape and the glow grows a cold blue in the middle of it.

He watches as their mom reaches forward slowly and deliberately to place fingertips in the same place their father had. Watches as once again Dean grits his teeth and groans in agony, as forces of evil use their only family to torture him. Around him the air is taunt with electricity and it becomes absolutely freezing cold. Thunder echoes outside, the house begins to shake.

Sam is fighting his invisible bonds, yelling at Mary to stop, crying for Dean to hold on. He watches in horror as icy shards form on his brother's chest, a cold blue in the middle. Right over his heart. He watches with his heart in his throat and tears frozen on his cheeks as the skin of Dean's throat goes white and firm, ice spreading through his veins and making him stone cold and silent. He watches blue lines appear in Dean's face, as his lips lose color and go purple.

Beautiful emerald eyes stay as bright as ever. But Sam knows better than anyone when they are void, when life has left his brother's lungs, and Dean, his brother, has left him. He's pressing forward as hard as he can to break free as sparkling edges of ice form on the tips of his brother's hair.

He's begging, pleading as John's image flickers into existence beside Mary's.

"Dad," he breathes out, for some reason feeling relieved, "Mom..." he turns to her. Hope and sorrow mixed in his voice. "Help him." He pleads, "Please...help him." He cries, as breaths become sobs, sobs, shuddering gasps as their beloved faces begin to fade.

"No!" He screams helplessly. Trying to tear from his bonds, arms and legs fighting for all his worth. "Help me! Help us!"

With that last fading shades of their parents the forces holding Sam back disappear. He lands with a thump across the room as Dean's cold body slumps forward from the wall and falls into Sam's waiting arms. So cold. So still.

Already gone.

"No, no, no," Sam sobs out. Arms circle his brother, bringing Dean into his warmth. Eyes are glassy and emotionless, Dean can't comfort his little brother now. Sam buries his face in Dean's still, cold neck as he holds him close as if he can reverse anything done to his big brother.

"De..." he pleads, (pleasecomebacktomepleasedontleavemedeanineedyou...notagain)

There is no answer. No miraculous breath, no reassuring smile. No cocky smirk, or snarky limerick. Just silence answering, just limp coldness within Sam's arms. Through tears he reaches and closes his brother's eyes with one last caress. Sam screams in grief, on the edge of insanity as even Dean flickers and fades from him and his arms are left empty...leaving him well and truly alone.

...

Sam starts awake. His head falling from the wood he'd been leaning on causing him to jerk upright quickly. He's confused as to his location blinking through watery, sleepy eyes into the dim lighting of the bunker library. His chest heaves as he brings trembling hands up to wipe away the tears from his cheeks.

He takes several deep calming breaths. Breathing air in through his nose and out through his mouth. He closes his eyes, fingers spreading on cool, hard wood flooring beneath him, grounding himself in the real world where neither his father nor mother, or supernatural entity has succeeded in ending his brother.

Dean was alive. He was safe. He was here.

Sam sighs looking around through eyes gritty like sand. He doesn't remember falling to sleep in between his lonely sorrow and the falling adrenaline from the hunt. He doesn't know how long it's been, or what time it was, but does know he needs to find Dean. He's already had more time than Sam's comfort left to himself.

Sam tries to shake off the ominous shadow of the dream as he groans, rising to his full height. It doesn't really work as he goes in search for Dean, a darkness, a quiet, reigning over the bunker and their lives. Sam only prays it would be useless against them, as family...as brothers. Prays and hopes that they can be bigger than this, knows that they've been through this before. Knows they will get up and move on and be "alright" eventually.

And there was the key word especially for Dean. Eventually.

Eventually for Dean could be a very very long time. And Sam wants him to be okay, needs him to be okay because what was Sam that Dean wasn't? He needs his brother like the air he breathes, he needs his brother to be okay like the very blood pumping through his veins. Needs his smiles and laughs like the warmth of Sam's skin that hints of life's spark and a heart beating.

Sam runs a hand down his face wearily as he stumbles through the hallways of their home.

Their home.

Not mom's home.

Not enough for her, couldn't keep her here, couldn't make her stay. Couldn't make her happy...couldn't make her forget, ugly voices whisper to him. Insecurities reminding him of his failures, of his part in losing her...some part of him knows it's nonsense and tells himself it's not his fault. But the pain and loneliness have him wrapping long arms around himself as he shivers, misery settling over him like a thick, cold fog.

As Sam hunches in on himself he knows he has to find his brother, knows Dean has got to be so much worse than him. His heart jumps to his mouth as he hears a strangled cut off cry of his name from a few halls over.

He's dashing through the bunker before he even knows what he's doing. Colt in his hands after he slipped it from the back of his jeans.

"Dean?!"

...tbc

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Thank you for reading! :)


	3. Part 3

Part 3.

Dean hits the floor hard, head jerking back on his neck, breath knocked from his lungs, ending his call for his brother. Moriarty appears over him, his very real weight seated on his chest, both hands pressed exceedingly hard on Dean's icy chest. Cold seeps into Dean from this connected point, his pulse sounding heavy in his temple.

His hands are useless where they struggle to jerk the ghost's hands from him. Moriarty is strong and determined and confident, Dean can't even buck him off his body.

"Get off of me!" He grits out between chattering teeth, "Sam!" He tries to choke out. A cold, dry ashy hand clamps over his mouth. Dean's stomach rebels at the smell of decaying flesh and old grave dirt. He chokes coughing, knowing he has to breathe through his nose since he can't breathe through his mouth.

"Sh," Moriarty soothes. "Hush now, little boy."

Dean fights all the harder, his stomach rolling even more at the sound of the man's creepily soft and alluring voice.

"I know mommy dearest told you all about me, and then she left you...she didn't understand at all, did she? Didn't understand how we NEED people to stay with us, we need people to survive."

Dean struggles unseating the man for a moment, Moriarty jerks his hand back just in time as Dean's teeth snap in empty air. Dean's head jerks around landing on the floor with the force of the spirit's backhanded slap.

"Stop struggling," he coos sweetly, hands burying in Dean's shirt, coldness spreading again. Dean jerks at the freezing contact his breaths shuddering with shivers, his whole body trembling with it. "Stop struggling, come with me and they'll never leave you again. You can keep them in here with me."

Dean shakes his head still trying to escape, "They didn't l, love you...they were sc, scared of you. You killed them and you t, took their whole lives from them! They hated you!"

Moriarty growls and backhands Dean again, grabbing his chin and squeezing hard. Dean feels the cold seeping into his cheeks. "You would understand Dean," he says sneakily under his breath, whispering right into Dean's ear. "Everyone has left you, everyone will always leave you..."

"No, Samm..."

"Oh sweet little Sammy," Moriarty sneers into his face, "Where is he then? Where is your brother hm? He left you all alone, he doesn't care. He probably blames you for her leaving. He tried to warn you, he tried to tell you she need something more didn't he?

"Oh smart little brother, shoulda listened...tsk tsk." Moriarty shakes his head and laughs at how blue Dean's face is going, how his coldness and bitterness is seeping into Dean's body and quickly killing it.

"You're not real," Dean strains out, "W, we burned your body!"

"True true," Moriarty informs as he places one hand back over Dean's heart. He screams, body arching up off the floor as blood like icicles rushes through his veins. "But I recognize a kindred spirit when I see one Dean, I rode you straight home. Your poor little heart is almost done for Dean...come and join me and we'll invite sweet Sammy soon enough. But Sammy, he's smart, he's selfish...he doesn't need you Dean."

"Go. To. Hell." Dean grits out through shuddering breaths.

Moriarty just shakes his head, exasperated at Dean's stubborn refusal. Both hands press down like millstones on the human's chest. The body beneath him tenses and arches up off the floor.

"I'll see you on the other side, Dean," he hisses as Dean's body spasms and goes limp, eyes rolling into the back of his head. He cackles to himself as his icy mark spreads, leaving lips purple and pulse going sluggish until it slowly fades away.

...

Like deja vu from his nightmare just moments earlier Dean is still, cold and purple-lipped on the floor. Sam's heart stands still as he comes upon the all too real scene in front of him. The spirit's head turns with a sickening circular movement, his bright eyes land on Sam full of interest and dark intent.

"No," Sam gasps out, emptying the whole clip of his handgun into the ghost's body without even thinking. He's across the room by his brother's side before he's even sure the blessed rounds have done their trick.

Moriarty flickers and grunts frustrated, he disappears from Dean's chest as his little brother falls to his knees beside him. Sam reaches to lay a warm palm on his brother's cold chest but before he can an icy blast crashes into him sending him flying backwards into the wall.

Pinned there as if frozen the feeling of panic from his nightmare quickly returns. He struggles, throwing his head back desperately into the wall when he can't move, the pain is grounding, his anger focusing on Moriarty.

The malevolent ghost appears in front of his face, the smell causing him to gag also, but he can't move his face away so he stares resolutely into the ashen gray face. Moriarty grins obscenely, obviously enjoying Sam's pain, enjoying this tragedy of his making.

Sam's eyes flicked to his brother, so still and frozen there as if in time. Because the world can't possibly be spinning if his brother is truly gone. Moriarty cocks his head to one side watching the emotions wash over Sam's face as he stares at his brother's corpse. Watches the devastation and absolute fear wash over him like a tsunami.

"So this is Sammy?" He asks, smiling callously. "Just a pinch too late Sammy." He cackles, looking back over his shoulder eyes going bright and proud as he looks at Dean's body.

Sam only struggles more, "What did you do to my brother, you bastard?" He spits out, gritting his teeth as the cold wall only presses against him heavier.

Moriarty tsks, "Sam Winchester...I have you figured all wrong haven't I?" One finger trails down from his Adam's apple to his collar bone. The icy pain lacing through his body is screaming for Sam to jump away. The younger Winchester throws his head back against the wall screaming through gritted teeth as the ghost inserts his dirty fingernail into the sensitive skin along his collar bone. He can feel the cold spreading through his body through just this one point of connection. Moriarty chuckles knowing his line of thought.

"Yes," he says smoothly, "Big brother suffered, poor little Sammy, he suffered a lot. I thought you would prefer to be rid of such a sorry excuse of a human, but you care don't you? Just like him...weak and foolish just like him."

Sam can feel a warm tear sliding down his cold cheek as his eyes go back to Dean...really gone.

"But no matter," Moriarty decides, "You'll be joining us soon enough."

The ghost places a decay hand on Sam's chest, over his heart. A freezing aura surrounds Sam's insides, shivers immediately begin to shake him. It feels as though razor sharp icicles are impaling through him.

"So, so weak after mommy left." Moriarty muses as though talking to himself as watches a thin layer of ice form on Sam's shirt. "Tore you to pieces, poor little boys...they always leave!" He hisses into Sam's face, "They always leave you, will always leave you."

Another hand is placed on Sam's chest, the ghost presses down with all his weight, Sam can hardly draw breath. "No," he gasps out. "No!" Hands fist, he screams through his gritted teeth in frustration.

Why can't anyone understand? Why does everyone assume they aren't strong enough, haven't they proved over and over again that they are there for each other? That no matter the odds they will find each other, that they will be together. That they are stronger together...they are safer together.

And this was his fault. Moriarty was right, Dean wasn't strong or safe, he was vulnerable when alone and Sam had let him be alone. He'd left him open to this attack, vulnerable to this malicious spirit who knew all of Dean's doubts. Knew how he feared being abandoned, how he had been abandoned.

"We will never leave each other!"

Moriarty blinks in surprise, pausing for a moment. Sam gasps in a breath, the air puffing with it the temperature has dropped so severely.

"What was that?" He asks sharply.

"I will never leave my brother..." he pants out, eyes aflame with the truth and passion of his statement. "And Dean will never leave me."

Moriarty's and his eyes meet, a seeming battle of wills. The ghost trying to gauge how sincere, how certain the Winchester was. Sam catches an amazed look flash over the ghost's usually hardened countenance then the cold, slightly, sarcastic look return.

"You two are special," the spirit sneers, "So I'll treat you special."

The force holding Sam against the wall is suddenly gone. He lands in a heap on the floor, gasping as some of the coldness leaves his bones. Moriarty is there in his face, hand grabbing his chin and forcing Sam to look in his face.

"Big brother won't leave you, huh?" He asks mockingly. He flickers from the air in front of Sam and appears to stand beside Dean. He uses his booted foot to kick him, he nudges him again as Dean's limp body simple rocks with the movement. He stays still, he doesn't move, he makes no sound.

Sam barely holds back the sob rising in his throat. Knowing Moriarty is just demonstrating how gone Dean really is, how he really has left his little brother. But Sam's heart and soul are crying out, he can't be gone, there's no way, he has to be alive. He watches Dean's body fall back to the floor with a dull thump as the ghost kicks him again.

"Stop," he whispers. "Stop!" He shouts, tears finally coursing down his cheeks. "Please just leave him alone."

The ghost appears before his face, "Why?" He asks innocently, "He's already gone Sammy." He coos, sounding sorry.

Sam shakes his head, looking down as tears blur his vision, "No," Dean didn't, couldn't leave him.. And he knows he's pleading to whoever may be listening, Chuck, Amara...a reaper, even a witch. His brother can't be dead

"No!"

"Prove. It." Moriarty sneers forcefully.

"What?" Sam asks, through tears.

The ghost laughs, "Prove me wrong that Dean hasn't left you and I'll let you two sorry excuses for men go, so...prove it."

Moriarty disappears from his face and appears on the other side of the room as Sam slides to his brother's body. Trembling hands hover over Dean's figure for the first few moments. No, no, no, he's thinking frantically. Dean is never supposed to be this still, is never supposed to just let some asshole spirit kick him around...is never supposed to leave Sam!

His shaking fingers are placed on Dean's wrist where he's searching for a pulse, he's greeted with cold stillness. Same when he presses them into the flesh of his throat. Tears are back stinging in his eyes.

"Dean, please," he whispers, "Please don't leave me." Fingers run through the frozen spikes of his hair coming back cold and wet. Tears fall down his cheeks landing on his brother. Through obscure vision he opens Dean's jacket and stares in horror at the icy growth on his brother's chest. It glows a steady blue now, no longer pulsing with Dean's heart...the organ stilled and frozen.

In a blind action of desperate hope Sam flattens his warm palm on the ice that is now his brother's chest. He lays it right where his heart sits dormant. Eyes closed, every fiber of his being concentrating towards his brother telling him he's here waiting for him to come back, needs him.

We're stronger together, we're safer together, it's okay mom left we can deal with it, we will still be together...

...come be safe with me brother.

He sighs, calming his breaths. Centers himself, channeling all his life's spark, warmth, love and devotion to his brother though his hands. He's hugged Dean, hurt Dean, stitched Dean...held him together with those hands...if anything can call him back it's this.

There's a movement in the air and Sam's eyes fly open. Blue energy is seeping from his brother's chest. The air is taunt with it as it floats around Sam and Dean like northern lights, cold and beautiful. His brother still appears to be gone but as the energy grows so strong that it pushes Sam's hair from his face and blows his and Dean's clothes around their bodies, the younger brother pushes his hands down into the coldness with all he is worth.

The energy coming from Dean's body pushes at Sam, trying to deny him this, trying to stop this miracle...Sam grits his teeth yelling in effort through them. Keeping contact with Dean, calling him back to him because Dean Winchester will never leave his little brother. Never. Sam Winchester will never leave his brother, never.

"No!" Moriarty growls under his breath, as Sam feels wetness on his palms. Ice melting and water spreading over the floor beneath them. The spirit clenches his ashen hands into fists.

"Not possible."

...tbc

Thanks for reading! If you like it..plz review! ;);)


	4. Part 4

Part 4.

Above him there is light. His mother appears from it. She comes from the nothingness of the blue, cold light. Dean thinks it's probably a warning, probably means she's not real. But who cares? Certainly not him.

She leans over him, her hand runs through his hair, he feels the ice crack and bend with her movement. From his hair down to his cheek her hand soothes. Dean jumps at the coldness of her skin. Her eyes are a vibrant blue, glistening with their iciness. He sighs watching her lovingly, though knowing this probably isn't his mom, or that she's already gone and something else is just using her body or form.

He's cold too, shivers wracking him mercilessly. He sits and looks around for some sort of warmth, a blanket...his jacket would be nice. All around is white and bare, Mary stares out a window across the room from him.

He looks down to find himself in blue cloth pants and a thin white t-shirt, jeez, no wonder he was freezing. His hands are smooth and perfect, like a baby's, the thought occurs to him that he's dead. Fingers run over his skin under his t-shirt. Smooth and perfect not one scar...cold as ice.

He sighs, eyes shut in something like mixed regret and relief.

It was over.

Sadness floods over him as he glances over his shoulder at the rest of the room. Empty. No Sammy. (Sometimes he envisions that they will end together, die beside each other, blood mingling together on the ground beneath them as they smile at the next eternity.)

"Mom." He says quietly, this whole place is just hushed, he doesn't want to break the peacefulness.

She turns towards him a small smile on her face.

"Why are you here, Mom?" He asks, a little confused. Mary shouldn't be dead.

Her face goes sad and dark in contrast to the room and the bright whiteness. She turns to the window looking out. Dean steps up to her back and looks over her shoulder, breath stopping in his throat.

Out the window there is a large expanse of snow covered wasteland. Faraway, though clear enough to see there is a glow of warmth. The picture of home springs up out of the middle of no where, looks so warm. It's Dean and Sam standing in the library...it's Mary saying she's leaving them.

"Because I left." Mary whispers, her voice breaking. Dean looks down to her, tears slide down her ice chiseled cheeks, "I left you."

The room echoes with her words and Dean covers his ears at the loudness of it. When he looks up she's gone.

"Mom?" He calls.

Silence answers him, he looks back to the window and gasps. The picture has changed, it's Sam sitting on the floor in the library all alone. A silent tear cascading down his cheek. Dean knows Sam hates to be left alone, knows he hates for Dean to be alone.

The picture fades and forms into Mary's room. Dean watches is disbelief as Sam leans over his still, cold body and places his large, warm hands over his chest, fights to force the coldness back.

"Sammy." He whispers brokenly. He left him. Sam's alone and scared and Dean just left him...

Warmth spreads through his body starting at his chest, and Dean knows its his brother. He brings his own still shivering hand up to the glass of the window, spreads out his fingers and presses his palm to the pane. He can feel Sam calling to him, can feel Sam sending him warmth and a sense of safety and security.

Around him the room begins to shake, the sheet rock crumbling and starting to fall down a round him. Dean ignores it, gritting his teeth and trying to focus on Sam as much as he can, is trying to use that link between the two of them to drag himself back. As the walls begin to fall around him and the glass shatters underneath his hand the picture out in the snowy wasteland flies towards him, energy like bright blue northern lights clinging to its edges and surrounding Dean as he squeezing his eyes shut and braces himself for the impact.

He doesn't even feel it. What he does feel is warmth suddenly reaching out to him and surrounding him...he opens his eyes and is looking into the warmest hazel-brown eyes he's ever seen, that he ever will see...that's he's seen nearly everyday for his whole life. Brown shaggy hair is hanging around that beloved face and Dean smiles.

Sam.

...

Sam's hands were hot against his brother. He was almost scared he was burning his skin. The energy in the room heightened and Moriarty appeared in front of them. His hands were in front of him like he was going to throw Sam from Dean but he was frozen in his pose, unable to move, unable to touch them.

Unable to take anyone from anybody.

Sam looks up to the spirit and gives a small triumphant smile, "I know my brother better than anyone, and I know he would never leave me."

Moriarty screams as the cold, blue energy surrounds him and he shatters into a thousand pieces of blue ice which then dissolve in the air around Dean and Sam.

Sam lets out a breath and then looks back to his brother, waiting for something...anything. It had to have worked, especially since Moriarty was officially ended now. Please Dean, please come back. The panic rising in him at the thought of being truly, wholly alone is crippling.

Dean's body arches off the floor with his first breath. Sam's heart nearly leaps from his chest. He slides a hand under his brother and pulls him partly upright. Eyelashes quiver on his freckled, white cheeks and then joy of joys, thank you thank you thank you, eyelids lift and showcase bright sparkling green eyes that Sam thought he'd never see again.

Dean fixates on his face and Sam knows he's watching the tears run down his cheeks. All he can feel is the warmth seeping back into his brother's body, the shivers that whisper to him of his brother's body fighting to live.

Just for a few moments, he tells himself as he buries his face in Dean's shoulder and celebrates the life in his arms before they get Dean warming up. He finds it so grounding, knows it probably is helping Dean come back fully. They find sanity through each other in their insane lives, this is their safe place. They are each other's safe places, this is their way of coping. A few moments definitely won't hurt either of them.

...

Dean hisses when he steps under the hot water in his shower. The warmth tingles on his cold skin to the point of painful but soon the stinging stops and he's just left covered in warmth. Finally. He can hear Sam in the next room, probably hoarding blankets onto his bed and bringing in hot steaming tea.

Dean thinks whiskey is a much easier warmer upper but Sam of course would disagree. And Sammy gets whatever he wants. He uses an old worn rag to scrub this terrible day off his skin, it's soft but still even that little friction hurts his skin. Sam could probably tell him all the scientific reasons if he was here.

He washes the suds from his hair and stands under the spray for a few moments, letting the steam rise and fill his sinuses, the thick air working as a sedative. He's so sleepy the cold...dying having zapped his strength. Their mom leaving them is now merely in the back of his mind but it's still as added constant ache.

He turns off the water, pats his face dry with the towel Sam left him. He chuckles at the pile of clothes that his little brother left too. His thickest pair of joggers, a pair of wool socks. A t-shirt and Henley to go over it, and an old soft pullover the boys swap over and over again because it's comfortable as all git out. Dean pulls on all the layers, his brother knowing him perfectly, not giving him too many clothes, but just as many as Dean could stand. (Dean would have put on all the clothes in the bunker for Sam.)

He begins to generate warmth as soon as he's bundled up. He's still shivering, his teeth still chattering a bit, but the thought of his bed on the other side of the bathroom door motivates him. He brushes his teeth and uses mouthwash before running fingers through his wet spikes and opening the door.

As predicted there are about six blankets laying at the foot of his bed. His sheets pulled back invitingly and pillows arranged for him. Also as predicted there's a steaming cup of what looks like apple cider on his bedside table sitting on a coaster, because Sam has learned Dean's paranoid like that.

Dean makes a swan dive for his bed. He lands with a soft humph burrowing his head into his pillows and sheets for warmth. He is laying still waiting for the material to heat up and keep the warmth around him when he feels layers being added to his nest.

The weight of quilts being laid of top of him is safe and comforting. He lifts his head from the pillows to catch sight of his giant sibling unfolding blankets and laying them on Dean lined up perfectly. (Something else Sam has learned, Dean is somewhat of a perfectionist.)

Dean groans appreciatively stretching his feet down into the blankets so those sheets will get warm too. Sam shoots him a grin as he lays the last blanket on top of Dean's cocoon.

"I think you should be good now." He says, surveying his work.

"Dude, this is awesome!" Dean answers, beaming as he lets himself relax, already growing sleepier than ever. "I could kiss you right now."

Sam laughs, "Shut up and drink your apple cider."

"Too tired," Dean says muffled into his blankets.

"It'll warm you up," Sam tries.

"If I have to move then no, absolutely not."

Sam just rolls his eyes, he sits down on the edge of the bed by Dean's hip and takes the cup, sipping on it as Dean blinks sleepily up at him.

"You okay?" The big brother asks.

Sam nods. "Yeah, you're okay, so yeah I'm okay." He wraps his long fingers around the mug warming them, still shivering a little himself.

Dean is quiet for a moment, drowning in the depth and truth of that statement.

"How do you think she did it?" He asks in a whisper just a few moments later.

"Left?" Sam asks, not looking up from the liquid in his cup.

Dean nods.

Sam shrugs, "She ran before and she found dad, you know? She got us." He shakes his head finally looking at his brother. "The bravest thing she ever did was run Dean, maybe that's all she knows to do."

Dean looks away, he sleepy mind sympathizing with the woman who left them...she was right, she didn't know them. She didn't know what she was running from, she didn't know what she was missing out on.

He smiles softly, "We wouldn't know anything about that."

"No, we wouldn't," Sam laughs, looking down at him, eyes soft and bright. Dean knows that look.

"Not going anywhere Sammy." He whispers. "You might have to drag me home after a five day bender, hell, you might have to balance me out when I get too trigger happy cuz I'm mad...but I'm never leaving you Sammy, never."

"I know," Sam says, a catch in his voice even though it's hardly a whisper. "Me too."

Dean grins at him and kicks him from under the covers, "Now get in here, I know you're about to freeze your ass off."

Sam should have known Dean would have seen his shivers and trembling lips from trying to stop chattering teeth. He jumps over Dean and slips into the other side of the bed.

"Just for a minute," he breathes out with relief as he enters the warmth. "I'm still all gross."

Dean just grunts.

Sam lays awake for a few moments in the silence, he's not even sure Dean's still awake but he asks anyways, "Why did you run? Early in the library, why did you run from me?"

He's surprised when Dean's green eyes come into view as he blinks sleepily, "D'nt wanna hurt you." He sighs out.

Sam just shakes his head in disbelief, "You know we're safer together, stronger together?"

Dean nods into the pillow snuggling in deeper, "'lways safe with you S'mmy...'lways keep you safe too S'mmy."

Sam chuckles at the sleepy answer but his heart is lightened. He wraps himself better in the blankets and quickly follows Dean into dreams. They sleep peacefully within arm's reach of each other both resting in the fact that they've asked the question and they've worked so hard to stay loyal...

Be safe with me brother, is the only thing they have asked of each other.

They both answer with equal confidence, you are safe with me brother.

the end.

This is the last chapter peoples! Everyone who enjoyed this plz review!? I love hearing what people think of my writing, stories and treatment of the characters! :):)

Ttyl ;)


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